FranKophone

“Stop.” “What ?” “You know what.” “No. Tell me.” “This thing.” “Studying ?” “No. Staring.” “I didn’t stare. “ “You did. I saw it.” “By the way, were you staring at me ?” “Hell no!  I have work.” “ But if you didn’t ? Would you ? “ “No way.” “Sure ? “ “Disgusting.” “I love that word.” “Really ?” “Only when you say it.” “Ok. Anything else ?  I have work.” “I have you.” “Shut up !” “Really ?” “Not again.”

There is something in mourning a loved one. There is something in noticing that the world is not same anymore. There is something in walking bare-feet on the Grand Road. There is something in gazing at those two lotus eyes intently. There is something in letting your loved one go. There is something in losing all you have in one go and not weeping at all. There is something in future that keeps me alive today.

                 It was 26 th December 2004. I remember watching the horrendous tsunami videos on television. And  your silent sighs. Exactly seven years later, a tsunami rose in our lives. When the tides retreated, we saw no more of you. We knew you were mortal but your departure shocked us. The last time I saw you, you were reclining peacefully on the divan. Just like a baby. And that was almost six months ago. Maybe it was supposed to be etched in my memory – your image – calm and gentle. I remember  the flicker of your smile. It lighted up your face. Those expressions are  ingrained in my mind. Did you know you never aged in these two decades  that I saw you ? I guess you did. I remember your favourite dishes. Your  occasional jokes and interesting banters. Your aversion to starched  white clothes. Your knack for  correct  grammar.The mango trees. The brinjal plants. Your book ( I guess I have t...